


Putting the World Together Again

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: gendrya [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Post 8/03.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DNDNSNSMD THAT EPISODE
> 
> so anyway

Winterfell is destroyed.

Arya picks her way through and around the bodies that litter the yard, the halls, the rooms, clutching her dagger in her aching hand, searching for her staff because whatever happens, she  _cannot lose it_. She walks and walks until her legs give way and she sinks to her knees in the library of all places, right in front of the table she hid under, the droplets of her blood dried and hardened on the floor.

It's Gendry who finds her there, trembling, her fingers refusing to let go of her dagger. He says nothing, just places the staff across her lap and kneels beside her. When she comes alive again and sees him, she flings her arms around him, and he whispers into her hair, "We lived."

She looks into his eyes, then. "I'm never letting you go again." He starts to protest, but she grips the back of his neck. "Listen to me, Gendry. I may be a lady and highborn and all that, but you are my family, and I don't want -- I fought because I wanted us to live. Together."

He rests his forehead against hers. "I don't suppose you'd marry me?"

She shrugs. "I never wanted to marry."

"We've got time," he says. "You don't have to decide now. And I'll stay even if you say no."

When she smiles, he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. When she kisses him, she is his world.

\----------------

She loved Jorah. Jon knows this, and he keeps his distance, standing a good twenty paces from her as the bodies burn.

One moment, he's watching the flames, the next, she's in front of him. "My lord."

"Your grace." He doesn't know what she wants or why it couldn't wait.

She closes her eyes briefly. "May I speak with you?"

They walk, the cold winds cutting into them, the snow crunching beneath their boots.

She is the first to speak. "You are my nephew. Aegon Targaryen."

"Your grace, I would never take your crown from you."

She raises a hand. "You are the true king. If you refuse the Iron Throne," she takes a deep breath before continuing, "I will legitimize you and declare you King in the North. You will be an independent kingdom, and the Seven Kingdoms will become six."

"Five, your grace."

She raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps it will only be one when all is said and done. But I am not here to be queen of subjects who do not want me. I am not here to take the North from its people."

He bows. "Thank you, Dany."

"And until I marry, you will be my heir." She catches his look of surprise. "I love you, yes, but I do not wish my children to be as mad as my father."

After that, there is not much more to say.

\----------------

Brienne has never felt so weak.

Footsteps sound behind her; a firm hand comes to rest on her shoulder. "Ser Brienne." It's Jaime. "Would you care to join us for some ale?"

She knows what he expects. She'll agree, but won't drink much, and will nag her squire about drinking overmuch as well. All she has to do is turn her head. But she can't.

He moves to face her. "Brienne."

Something in his tone unlocks her, and she sways forward into him, letting silent tears drop onto his chest. His good hand slips from her shoulder down her back, caressing her with something akin to affection. She's shaking ever so slightly, and so is he.

When her tears are spent, he lifts his useless gold hand. "Wipe your eyes on my sleeve."

"You know, I never understood them," she says, bending slightly to do as he asked, "the people who called you evil."

Surprise, then a flicker of joy, then doubt. He raises his other hand to her cheek, barely touching her. When he speaks, his voice is so low she almost doesn't hear. "You can't mean that. You've seen me do unspeakable things."

"We have all done unspeakable things to survive."

He shakes his head. "Not you."

\----------------

Sansa is standing where she and Arya stood, but this time she isn't looking out; her eyes are on the dragonglass dagger in her hands.

"Lady Stark." The youngest Lannister's joviality of old has completely gone as he steps closer to her.

She turns. Considers her next move. He is not a bad man, but Daenerys has not given her an answer about the North. "Lord Tyrion."

He raises a hand with his own dragonglass dagger. "We won't forget this in a hurry, I'd wager."

Smiling ruefully, she answers, "You were never given to reminiscence."

"No, and there is the future of the realm to think of, and the future of the North."

Her breath catches, just a little, and she reminds herself that he is only a Hand and does not represent the dragon queen in everything she does. Still, her voice is a little too careful as she asks, "And what is the future of the North, my lord?"

"You are to be your own kingdom." He watches her, taking in her shock, her disbelief. "Although I have counseled her Grace to appoint not your cousin, but you as Queen in the North."

She places a hand on the battlements; it doesn't steady her as much as she hoped. "He is a warrior, not a ruler."

"He will be her heir."

"And you?" Her eyes are calculating, but not without warmth. "You will remain her Hand?"

He sighs. "As long as she will have me. When she tires of me, I expect I'll be executed." He shrugs, a small smile on his face. "I've already lived much longer than a dwarf has any right to."

Before he can stop or do anything, she's stooping, dropping a kiss on his cheek. She lingers for a moment, then rises and strides away, her cloak ghosting over the sludge and muck.

\----------------

"You're leaving again."

Jon turns from his not-father's statue. "You've always been good at sneaking up on people."

Arya grins, steps closer. "You'll always be a wolf, just like Theon was a wolf and a kraken. You don't have to choose."

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. "When did you get so wise?"

She shrugs, her gaze falling. "I'm not all that wise."

She looks at him, then, something questioning in her eyes, and he says, "You know you don't have to ask my permission for anything."

She's blushing furiously. "I -- you're -- Father -- " She takes a deep breath in and holds it before releasing. "I do need your blessing."

He steps forward, into her space, and takes her hands. "My blessing for what?"

"Only I don't know if I'm actually going to do it, I just want to have the option." She lifts her face to his, her eyes earnest. "I think I want to marry Gendry."

Jon has to stop himself from cheering. Instead, he schools his features and tells her soberly, "You'd better make sure you want to before you tell him."

She nods, then pulls her hands from his and flings her arms around his neck. His arms curl around her, lifting her off the floor, and for a few moments they are children again.

When they break apart, he asks, "How did you do it?"

She tilts her head.

"Kill the Night King."

Nodding, she grins and says, "I stuck him with the pointy end."


	2. Chapter 2

The godswood is still.

Sam is marrying them, maester or no, because Jon loves him like a brother and that's good enough for Arya. Davos is giving Gendry away, and his face shining rosy in the torchlight is all Arya needs to be secure in her decision.

They'll name their first daughter Lyanna. She isn't with child, yet, but it seems fitting that a child of a Baratheon and a Stark should bear the name of one who might have been both. Sometimes, when he spills his seed in her, he cries. Sometimes she cries. She thought she'd forgotten how.

He walks toward her, and she forgets anything else ever existed. A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she is home.


End file.
